Dissolve the floors of memory
by SpacesInbetween
Summary: She remembers him, them, her job and her mother's case. She cannot remember her decision to stop.


I apologize in advance for the angst, but I'm feeling particularly emotional these days. Also my first language is not english, so bear with me. Reviewers get cookies and a reunion concert with the Spice Girls.  
Disclaimer: These wonderful characters are property of Andrew Marlowe and crew. (Also they are too busy making out to bother with me.)

* * *

TWELVE o'clock. Along the reaches of the street.

Held in a lunar synthesis,

Whispering lunar incantations. Dissolve the floors of memory.

_Rhapsody of a windy night – T.S. Eliot  
_

Faith is a merciless bitch, he decides as she once again wants to rush back into danger. He tries to reach for her, but she is rock solid, refusing him, refusing them. Her words are unrelenting, sharp like knives in the night. She is stubborn and he loves her, hates her for it.

He sighs and realizes his methods aren't working. The silence between them is heavy.

"Don't you know we'll both break?" He whispers, a barely audible plea in dark shadows and echoing silence. She stills. This is his last resort and they both know it.

"It'll break me Kate, surely you must know that." His voice is hoarse, begging now.

He ignores the feeling of being selfish, being pathetic and having to resort to begging, but right now he couldn't care less. She lets out a long sigh, closes the shutters where all her demons are waiting, watching, always watching. Nothing ever works though, and she has tunnel vision, her path ending in nothing but a dark pit where he is sure to join her if she doesn't stop.

"You don't get to say that," she spits at him, anger flaring, her control breaking. It was never present to begin with.

"I can't live through losing you again," he adds, waiting, always waiting.

"No, Rick, you do not get to play that card, this is my life, this is my decision, you don't get to.." She is cut of by his lips on hers as he takes advantage of her rush of emotion and urges her on. He pours his love for her into the kiss, giving from his whole being as she tries, but fails to push him away.

He feels it the moment she gives in and breathes in relief as her eyes darken and her lips respond feverishly to his. He sighs, thanks the Gods that he'll have one more day, one more night with her before her demons find her again. Because they always do.

The doctors told him she wouldn't get better anytime soon. Even here, hidden from threat in a beautiful three story house next to the lake, she has a black hole in her, a desperate longing to get back to New York, where the shadows are darkest.

Alexis picked out the place, and its spacious and has a beautiful view from the top balcony. Kate put up an impromptu murderboard behind the shutters the first day they got her. It reminds her of home, she tells him but they both know it's a lie.

He likes to think they are safe here. People are still after her, but as long as she doesn't run straight at them, seeking them out, he can keep her alive.

"You're good to me," she whispers and relinquishes her hold on him, sinks back into the cushions, tired eyes watching him intently.

He makes her hot chocolate and wraps her into his arms, as if protecting her from the world. He can't protect her from herself.

They say her amnesia is incurable. She remembers him, them, her job and most of her life. But she also remembers her vendetta against those who had her mother murdered, remember her snipers face, she remembers that last bit of evidence she found right before they moved to the lake house. She lost her memory and the obsession to get her revenge became multiplied. She cannot remember her decision to stop.

He sometimes thinks that the people behind her mothers murder weren't the reason they are now isolated from the world. She'd become the real threat.

And now every single night, her mind restores itself as she falls back into her obsession. Something happens, in the makeshift of night, and he has to convince her to stay with him every time she breaks. It also breaks him. It broke him weeks ago.

Sometimes, when his mind wanders to the darker places of the world he wonders if he should let her go. Let her run at them and see what happens.

He hates that part of him, the part that secretly urges that he's not giving up, only giving in. To what's inevitably going to happen anyway, but then he catches the softness in her eyes from behind a blue dotted pillow, a patch of hot chocolate lingering on her upper lip and he knows that it's never going to happen. He's going to keep fighting, even if it kills him. The happy moments, though few, are worth it.

He falls down next to her on the couch and kisses the chocolate off her lip.

She's worth it.


End file.
